Let Me Love You
by Raven Aorla
Summary: Sequel to Silent Spirit. "Of ALL the places I could've gone, I ended up here. Of ALL the places to get hit by a car, it happened here. Of ALL the people I could've been reunited with, I was stuck with my little mutant sister. If she is my sister."
1. Ryan Stevens, no, Ryan Sing

Disclaimer: the X-Men movieverse does not belong to me. Neither do the lyrics to "Cold, Cold Heart." Nobody can claim ownership over Ryan, though.  
  
As I have previously stated, this a sequel. Go back and read "Silent Spirit", if you haven't read it before, before you read this any further. Even though familiar characters do not appear in this chapter, they will later.  
.........................................................

"You getting on, son?"  
  
I blinked in surprise, even though I HAD been sitting at a bus stop. Four in the morning is not the usual time for people to board buses. The only reason I was there was to sit down on the bench and eat a pastry that I'd bought from a convenience store. "I'm sorry sir," I replied as politely as I could, "I don't have enough money. Just sitting here, sir."  
  
The bus driver gave me a knowing nod. He appeared unusually genial for that time of day, with laugh wrinkles imprinted in his cocoa-colored skin. On his head was a dark blue baseball cap, which he adjusted as he spoke. "You're welcome to ride all the same, if you like. If you board, the fee will be on me. If not, that's fine too."  
  
I thought for a moment. Like any other kid I'd been warned not to accept rides from strangers, but I was rebelling anyhow, what was one more act of defiance? Besides, he was a bus driver, and I had never been told to not ride on buses, even though this one didn't have anyone else riding it. At that point I was also extremely tired and a lift would have been nice. "Thanks. Just let me get my stuff in," I said, lugging my backpack, suitcase, and guitar case up the steps.  
  
"What's your name, kid, and where do you want to go?" asked the driver as he steered the vehicle through the quiet streets. "Call me Jeff. Sir makes me feel old, even though I appreciate politeness."  
  
"Central Station. My name's Ryan Steve-no-Ryan Sing." To explain the correction, I said, "I'm adopted, and my foster parents' last name is Stevens. But my real last name is Sing. I've used Stevens for years, but now I've decided that my old name fits me better." Which it did, especially the Asian sound to it, which suited my ancestors' Eastern origins.  
  
"Central Station is fine. It's my home base, actually. I was going there in the first place. Did you run away, Ryan?" asked the bus driver nonchalantly, as if asking my age or grade. I didn't say anything, so he continued, "Don't worry, I won't tell. I was a runaway myself once. I pick teens up regularly. Leaving home is quite common nowadays."  
  
I relaxed again. Something in his voice made me feel that he was being honest. "Dad and I had another argument. About the sixtieth one, probably. I decided I'd do better without him." Then I stopped, wondering if I was saying too much.  
  
"Everyone I meet has a story, Ryan, and I've heard plenty of them. I may be a stranger, but most psychiatrists and therapists are too. Lots of kids need someone to listen to 'em. I don't tell anyone what they say, and I won't criticize. Trust me, I know what it's like." He continued on for a while, telling me about his experiences running away from home, finding a job at a restaurant, then eventually becoming a bus driver. In the meantime he had married and had two kids, both little girls. "Your turn," he finished.  
  
My mind was a bursting fountain that needed an outlet, and the invitation triggered the words. I left out locations and names as a precaution, so that everything I said would be of no use to anyone who wasn't genuinely interested in my problems. I felt that it would be okay to tell a man with a similar story.  
  
"I ran away because Dad and I always fight. Mom takes his side. We fight over my grades, my friends, my girlfriends, my hobbies, what colleges to apply to, etc. According to him, I'm never good, athletic, hardworking, or smart enough. And Mom treats me like a dumb five-year-old, checking on everything," I moaned. "I've graduated from high school already, for goodness' sake! I'm seventeen!"  
  
"What made you decide to finally leave?"  
  
I sighed. "I wanted to go to a music school. I'm really good with the guitar, and I can sing too. Dad thought it was a bad ambition." I imitated his exasperated voice. "'Ryan, barely anyone makes it into big time. And the ones who do are parasites, lazy bums that leech off the population and care only about publicity. Do something useful, like being a doctor.'" I grimaced. "Even if I don't become a star, I'd rather play in a hotel than do what he wants me to. Now I know why God never gave children to those two."  
  
The sun was now rising, turning the summer sky pink and blue. "Lovely, isn't it?" commented Jeff as he drove. "I see it every morning, and I'm still not tired of it. What happened to your real parents?"  
  
"My mother died from birth complications, having my younger sister. My sister and father died in a fire," I answered.  
  
"Tough, kid, tough. Do you miss them?"  
  
"I don't remember them. I don't even know what they looked like. The pictures were all burnt up."  
  
"How old were you?" Jeff asked quietly.  
  
Oh dear, I thought. I'd hoped to avoid explaining this yet again. "I was seven. Yeah, sounds weird, doesn't it? Kids are supposed to remember their lives from age three onwards, right? Well, I don't." Telling people this always made me angry. Not at the listener, but angry at fate, angry at life for wiping out memories of my former existence. "To save me, my dad apparently dropped me out of the second-floor window to get me away from the smoke before he died. I woke up in the hospital. I knew what two plus two equaled, I knew how to tie my shoes, I knew the stuff kids that age are supposed to know. But I couldn't remember my name or anything about myself."  
  
"You're pretty mad."  
  
"Are you a mind-reader or something?" He didn't reply, so I said, "Yes. I am. Because I get flashes of my old life when I'm dreaming, and they're happy. Always happy dreams, that I forget as soon as I wake up, except for the feeling of being loved. My foster parents disciplined me properly, gave me enough healthy food, made sure I went to bed early and all that, but they never were affectionate. I think they adopted me just so that they'd impress the neighbors or something. Dad was running for mayor at the time, so I guess he was trying to make a good reputation for himself. Then he tried to live through me, have me do what he'd missed out on. But I didn't want to. In my dreams, though, I don't feel pressured. So I think it's really unfair that I can't remember that time, because I have a nagging feeling that it was the best part of my life, the part that I've lost."  
  
Jeff shook his head sympathetically. "Did you forget just because of being hit on the head?"  
  
"That's the weird part. The doctors say that usually amnesia from head injuries makes you forget everything, not just your identity. I've gone to a therapist. She said it was probably a mixture of the injury, and my subconscious repressing the memories that makes me unable to remember my early childhood. I thought she was right, but she didn't have any success in digging them up, so I stopped going to her." I didn't just think she was right, I knew she had been right, though I didn't want to admit it. For all my nightmares were full of fire, screams, and fear. I would nearly suffocate, then the floor would drop open under me, and I'd fall for miles and crash, then wake up. I had never told anyone about these nightmares.  
  
"So what are you planning to do now?"  
  
"I've been saving up for a ticket to New York City, since New York's the closest state to here. Lots of people, so my foster parents won't find me. An old friend of mine moved to New York two years ago, and he says I can stay with him for a while. I'll wait tables or something, until I get a chance to start playing my music."  
  
"Sounds like a good plan," agreed Jeff. Then he asked, "Incidentally, do you happen to be a mutant?"  
  
"No!" I exclaimed, repulsed at the idea. "Of course not. Why would you think so?"  
  
"Chill, Ryan. It's all right. I wouldn't have cared if you were."  
  
"What?" I asked incredulously. "But...they're awful! Wouldn't you be worried? I mean, they kill people so easily..."  
  
"I pick up paying passengers and teens who can't pay, but need a ride. Doesn't make any difference to me what they're genes are."  
  
If he weren't such a nice guy I would have told him that he was insane. But if I had, and he'd asked why I thought so, I'd have to tell him about Crystal, which would have hurt too much. Our conversation was stifled, and there was a long silence.  
  
Presently, Jeff asked, "Mind if I turn on the radio? I usually listen to oldies."  
  
"I don't mind." Actually, I secretly enjoyed old songs. They were fun to play and sing.  
  
He turned a few knobs, commenting, "This station plays songs from the 90's about this time in the morning. I was around your age back then." A quiet female voice came on. This was not the first time I had heard this song, nor the last. The lyrics washed over me soothingly.  
  
[I've tried so hard my dear to show that you're my every dream.  
  
Yet you're afraid each thing I do is just some evil scheme.  
  
A memory from your lonesome past keeps us so far apart.  
  
Why can't I free your doubtful mind and melt your cold, cold heart?  
  
Another love before my time made your heart sad and blue.  
  
And so my heart is paying now for things I didn't do.  
  
In anger unkind words I said that make the teardrops start.  
  
Why can't I free your doubtful mind and melt your cold, cold heart?  
  
Another love before my time made your heart sad and blue.  
  
And now I know your heart is shackled to a memory.  
  
The more I learn to care for you, the more we drift apart.  
  
Why can't I free your doubtful mind and melt your cold, cold heart?]  
  
Sometime after the song I ended up sleeping for a while, since I had been walking all night. Jeff woke me up when we reached the station. "Thanks a million," I said.  
  
"No problem. Good luck, Ryan." He paused. "Oh, and by the way, are you planning on any specific bus?"  
  
"No." I gathered my stuff together as I spoke.  
  
"Well, I would personally recommend number 87. It runs straight from here to New York State, stopping at several different cities and a few towns. NYC is the seventh stop. Though it takes a while, it tends to be cheaper than the rest. But don't miss it, because that driver won't take excuses. You probably wouldn't want to be marooned in Westchester County, the last stop. There's only a tiny town there, and that bus drops people off near a private school that's miles away from it. Other than that, it's a good route. If you caught the next one you'd get there around 2 AM tomorrow."  
  
He shook my hand as I walked past him. For the first time, I got a good look at his face. At first it seemed that his eyes were a brilliant green. That's impossible, I told myself. African-Americans don't have green eyes, unless they're wearing contacts. I decided that he either had contacts or it was weird lighting that made them look like that. There was no way a mutant would be that nice, I thought.


	2. Myriad Shocks

I yawned heavily, curled up on my jacket. Though the ride had been bumpy, sleeping had been my first priority. To this day, I don't remember spending more than five minutes at a time while conscious on bus 87. Most of those five-minute periods had involved going to the bathroom at a rest stop.  
  
"Hey, kid! Kid!"  
  
"Mmm?" I mumbled.  
  
"This is the last stop. Westchester County. Get up and get out." The harsh voice and face of the bus driver came into focus.  
  
"What-Oh, crap." I was now fully awake. Rubbed my eyes and looked out; it didn't look promising. There was an empty stop and bus in the dark. There were no street lamps in sight. "Please oh please," I begged the driver, turning to him, "let me sleep on the seat or something. I'll pay for a ticket to New York City."  
  
"That was hours ago. Nothing doing. Now get out." He picked up my bags and threw them onto the pavement.  
  
"Jerk," I muttered under my breath as I left the bus. I thought about what I'd like to do to him, but after a while I realized that I had more urgent worries. To start with, I was hungry and had no food left. The summer night wasn't too cold, but the air smelled like rain was coming. A memory drifted into my brain. Didn't Jeff say something about a private school near the bus stop? I hoped they would let me in. My watch said it was four in the morning. Dejectedly, I shuffled off towards the nearest lights.  
  
It was way too dark. I stumbled around, hoping that there would be no traffic about. Just then I heard the sound of a car coming up behind me. "Great. Just great." Quickly I edged to the side of the road. The car lights were off. Just barely I could see its outline. It was swerving back and forth, back and forth. In a moment I saw why: beams of red light were being shot at it that destroyed everything they hit. One came straight at me and I dodged it, screaming. Unfortunately, the only other place to go was in front of the car.  
  
When my head hit the pavement, I decided that my life couldn't get any worse. Then I heard a sickening crack and realized that it could. After that I didn't have time to think anything at all.

..................................................

Fire. Burning flames and choking smoke all around me. I remembered the fall, remembered the crash to my head, the awful pain. Then there was a long silence. A voice woke me up much later. Who am I? Who am I? That was my first conscious memory. Repeating the same question over and over for hours.  
  
This was second time I woke up in a hospital, however. This time I could remember everything. "Just a dream," I muttered, referring to the fire. I opened my eyes. A man was sitting next to me, a complete stranger, just like the first time.  
  
"Are you all right, Ryan Sing?" asked the man. He was bald and seemed pretty old, but had a dignified and cultured attitude and wore a neat suit.  
  
Inanely, I asked, "Wha? How do you know my name?" I tried to sit up and found out that I couldn't. My ribs hurt, and I saw that my left arm was in a cast.  
  
The man smiled kindly. "We found your name on your baggage. We found you on the road."  
  
"Where am I?" Then I remembered that I had been looking for a private school. "Is this a school?"  
  
"Xavier's School for the Gifted. I am Professor Charles Xavier."  
  
I bit my lip. "I was hoping..." I began, not quite knowing how to phrase my statement, "to stay a day or two, until I can get a ride to New York City."  
  
A woman walked over to my bed and shook her head. "I'm afraid that you can't be moved for several weeks. Several of your ribs are cracked and that arm won't be better for at least a month." She then turned to Professor Xavier and said something that I didn't catch. He nodded, and she quickly walked away.  
  
"Who was that?" I asked.  
  
"Dr. Ray. Some of our students fondly call her X-Ray. She is our resident physician." He clasped his hands together. "Ryan, according to Dr. Ray, you will have to be spending some time here. You are quite welcome to stay, and we do not ask for anything in return."  
  
"Wow, thanks," I broke in.  
  
The Professor continued, "I firmly believe that there is no use in trying to hide the nature of this school from you. Many of our students, like you, are runaways. We are accustomed to unexpected arrivals. However, the majority of them are...different from you."  
  
"How?"  
  
"We're all mutants, Ryan. The students, the teachers, and the other staff are all mutants. Except for the janitor, who is thoroughly 'normal', but has no prejudice against us." His tone was earnest and friendly.  
  
I was frozen in horror. "Oh...crap," I said slowly. "Get away from me." My efforts to pull the covers over my head failed. I winced in pain.  
  
Professor Xavier sighed. "I feared that you would have this attitude. This is why our students gather here. Here they are accepted and can have as close to normal lives as possible, while also learning how to control their powers. Ryan, I know the way that you, and many others, feel about us. I know even more firmly because I happen to be telepathic. Those dreams were your own memories, but I could not penetrate further than the time you lost your family. The rest is completely locked away. I was not trying to invade your privacy, I only wished to learn who you were and why you were here."  
  
"Look," I said angrily, "why on earth did you save me? Why are you keeping me here? What's all this about?" I firmly believed that they, meaning the mutants, had some sinister motive for bringing me into their hospital.  
  
"None of us here would leave an injured boy to die on the road. You may not believe me, but some mutants are actually decent people. Another reason for you to stay is, while I read your mind, I learned something from your earliest memories. I realize that you have suffered many shocks in a short period of time..."  
  
Understatement of the year, I thought. I was chewing my lips to shreds in nervousness and clenching my fists in anger.  
  
_But I find it necessary to tell you something, came a voice in my head_. I started. Though the Professor had told me he was telepathic, actually experiencing someone speaking to me with their mind made the skin on the back of my neck prickle. He continued, _I know this disturbs you, but I do not wish for someone to overhear. There are one or two people at this school with very sensitive ears. I have read another person's mind before that carried a memory of a fire,_ _and loss of a parent and a sibling through it._ While that sank in, he added verbally, "She also shares the same surname as yours. A girl here is named Myra Sing. Do you happen to remember her?"  
  
My jaw dropped far enough for me to swallow a fly. "That – that was my sister's name..." I shook my head. "No. You're lying. She's dead."  
  
At that moment, I spotted a girl walking towards us. "She thought you were dead as well," Professor Xavier said quietly, "for many years."  
  
I would've rather been told that I had leprosy than that the thing I saw was my sister. She was stick-thin, with enormous sunglasses obscuring her eyes. Her visible skin was covered with dark gray fur. FUR! Short hair hung slightly above her shoulders, hair that was a metallic silver. She saw my face, and her expression was of pure amazement. A slow smile crossed her face. I was revolted.  
  
"Liar," I whispered. Then I said it again. "Liar! She's not related to me. No no no."  
  
"Ryan," began the Professor.  
  
"NO!" I wouldn't let him finish, nor would I listen to anything he said. "LIAR!" I screamed, "Get away from me, freak! LIAR!" Holding my left hand to my eyes, I continued to yell, "LIAR! LIAR! GO! LIAR!"  
  
Through a crack between my fingers I had a fleeting glimpse of the girl rushing away, a tear trickling out from the glasses. A momentary pang of conscience hit me. I had never made a girl cry...except Crystal. Then my anger and bitterness rose again. It was THEY that took her away. Crystal became one of THEM. I had sworn to hate them forever the day that Crystal had disappeared, no matter how many little girls' feelings I had to hurt.  
  
They left me alone for a while, to cool off. I did nothing but fume for what seemed like hours. Why was this happening to me? Of ALL the places to end up, I ended up here. Of ALL the places to get hit by a car, it had to happen here. Of ALL the people I could've been reunited with, I was stuck with my little mutant sister. If she WAS my sister, since I didn't think there was any proof. Even staying at home would have been better than being surrounded by mutants. I muttered and griped until my thoughts were interrupted.  
  
_Jerk._ The word floated into my head. Total and complete jerk. _Myra should've kicked his a$$._ _Guess it's up to me...  
  
_"What?" I said aloud, intensely annoyed. I turned my head around. Another girl was walking towards me. She was decent looking, with average height, average weight, and average build. Her hair was an ordinary dirty-blonde shade, her eyes a completely normal gray-green, a spray of normal freckles crossed her face, and she had glasses indistinguishable from any teenager's. Actually, she frightened me more than the previous monstrosity, since I would have never known that she was a mutant if I had just seen her walking down the street. "What did you just call me?"  
  
"Oh, was I projecting? So sorry," she said, meaning the complete opposite. "Sometimes I do that without meaning to. Gets annoying." The girl sat down on a chair next to my bed. "Allow me to introduce myself. They call me Spy here. My other name doesn't matter much anymore. I already know that you're Ryan Sing. Don't worry, just the teachers and we two girls know you're here for now. It'll probably get out in a day or two." Spy adjusted her glasses. "You really upset Spirit, you know."  
  
"Who?" Her manner was grating my nerves.  
  
"Silent Spirit. SS. Only I call her Myra, since we're best friends. She's your sister. And she's been desperate to meet you for two years; before then she thought you were dead."  
  
I tried to stretch nonchalantly, but only managed to remind myself why I was stuck in that bed in the first place. "Ow..." I whispered, then recovered myself and said, "You've got no proof that we're related."  
  
"Oh yeah? What about this?" She drew something out of her pocket and showed me a wallet-sized photo. There were three people in that photograph. One was me in a little suit and bow-tie. I recognized myself because I looked the same as I had at age seven. There was also a man in the picture, a man who looked like a perfect adult reproduction of me, except that he wore sunglasses. On his lap was a little girl in a red dress and red sunglasses. She had gray fur and silver hair.  
  
Shaken, but still firmly opposed to the idea of my being related to a mutant, I said, "Still no proof. Trick photography or something."  
  
Exasperated, she answered, "If you're going to be in denial, there's nothing I can do."  
  
"Look, kid, I don't appreciate being insulted by a freshman."  
  
"I am NOT a freshman! We're sophomores! I'm sixteen already, and Myra is fifteen and a half. Just cause you're one year older than me and you're a normie doesn't mean you can look down on us."  
  
"Normie?"  
  
"It's a not very nice term for nonmutants. We got tired of being called muties, freaks, etc. So a bunch of the teens here coined the term "normie" for the people that call us that, since you guys put so much STRESS on being NORMAL." Spy stuck her tongue out at me. "Gaah. Spirit wants me to leave you alone, so I just thought I would tell you what I thought of you."  
  
"Why do you people call her Spirit, anyway?" What a stupid name, I thought, forgetting that the irritating mutant next to me would know what had passed through my mind.  
  
_Oh hah hah,_ her thoughts returned. _Why don't you ask her, then? You don't deserve such nice_ _treatment from Myra and the Professor_. I'll leave you this to chew on. _Can't stay, I'm_ _late for a date._ She tossed the photograph, along with an additional one, onto my bedcovers, and stalked out.  
  
My curiosity insisted on me looking at the other wallet-sized photo. It was the portrait of a fairly pretty and reasonably young, about mid-thirties in age, Asian woman. The image was oddly familiar, though I had no idea when I had seen it before. As I gazed at it, a strange feeling passed through me. There was a wave of comfort, peace, and complete security, along with a fleeting feeling that I had nothing to fear. I also felt an impulse to turn it over. On the back was a penciled, little-girl-type cursive message: "Mother, Lily Sing, 1970-November 18, 2005. I'm so sorry." I turned over the other picture, the three-person portrait that I had yet to explain away, to see if there was a message there as well. A tiny print said: "Dad, Charles Sing, 1971-2011. I'll never forget you. Ryan, 2003-? Are you still alive? Where are you? Me, age five. Who would've known what would happen next?" A wave a longing passed over my senses, a longing for these to be actual pictures of the parents that I remembered no more. But I could not accept the idea that my sister was a mutant.  
  
Following Spy's advice, I chewed on my thoughts for quite a while.


	3. Waiting

The first afternoon and night did not pass well. I had apparently been unconscious until long after lunch. There were no clocks within my line of vision, but a small window on the other side of my bed showed me the setting sun. The doctor brought me some food, wisely not demanding me to speak to her. I refused to eat it. Professor Xavier wheeled back to check on me, but I turned towards the window and refused to be responsive. I also refuse to elaborate on how I managed to go to the bathroom, as I prefer to forget it. When I tried to sleep, panicked thoughts about my being surrounded my mutants filled my brain to the brim. Also, I awoke several times during the night, always clutching at the covers, yet unaware of what my dreams had been.  
  
Finally, I opened my eyes when the sun was up. A small bedside table had been set up next to me. The top was at an easy height for my left hand to reach. On it rested a clock with the two photos propped next to it, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a flashlight, an MP3 player, and a note. Written on the note were four words: "Hope you like it." I was stunned. Inside the drawer, which I opened with some difficulty, was several books, mainly mysteries and fantasy. Upon seeing Dr. Ray, I asked, "Who did this?"  
  
"Well, look who's decided to talk. Good morning, Ryan." She gave me a penetrating glance. "Try not to move too much. Your ribs will 'knit' much sooner than that arm and leg will heal, and then we'll see about moving you to a wheelchair. I brought you some painkillers. It looks like you've been twisting around a bit last night." X-Ray handed me a glass of water and three pills.  
  
"Huh?" I eyed the pills suspiciously. "I have three questions, Doctor. Who put that stuff there, why do you keep commenting on the state of my skeleton first thing in the morning, and are you trying to poison me?"  
  
She laughed quietly at me, smoothing back her brown hair. "To start with," she said, ticking the answers of her fingers, "whoever brought that table in must have done it in the middle of the night, since I didn't see it happen. I keep commenting on your bones because I can see them. The reason they call me X-Ray is that I can see through things. It's very useful for a doctor." Dr. Ray did another piercing look-over, and I shivered when I noticed that her left pupil shrank to nothingness, while her right pupil grew to fill her entire right eye. She blinked, and they abruptly returned to normal size. "Your suitcases are under your bed, incidentally. I assure you that we would not go to all this trouble to help you out if we were going to poison you. You are free to accept or deny the medication."  
  
My chest area, along with the injured limbs, had been throbbing all night. I stared at the pills for five more minutes, then carefully swallowed them. "I guess I am already in about as much trouble as I could be, anyhow," I murmured, then gulped down the water.  
  
Someone knocked on the infirmary door, and the doctor left me there. It was that girl again, my so-called sister. A strange conversation passed between her and X-Ray. Dr. Ray would ask her something, and she would nod, shake her silvery head, or start miming. I wondered if she could talk. Eventually she pulled out a notepad and scribbled a message on it. The doctor read it, nodded, and let her pass.  
  
"What are YOU doing here?" I asked angrily. "Can't you leave me alone?" There was no reply, as she sat down on the bed next to mine, holding her head. Her sunglasses-covered eyes looked away from me. I reached out with my left hand and tapped her wrist to get her attention, and repeated my statement.  
  
Her face was completely expressionless as she grabbed the same notepad and wrote: For your information, I'm not here for you to insult me. I happen to have a headache and I can't concentrate in class.  
  
"Why can't you talk?"  
  
She wrote: I can talk, but you can't hear me. I also can't hear you. I've recently learned how to read lips, which isn't very difficult. The deafness is a side effect of my mutation.  
  
"What is your mutation?"  
  
Do you really want to know? Her handwriting was a messy cursive.  
  
"Well," I said, "I probably have to know sometime. Why do they call you Silent Spirit?" I couldn't believe we were being so reasonably. Chilled, yes, but still civil to one another. Wasn't she supposed to be sucking my eyes out at this point or something? "The 'Silent' part makes sense, but..."  
  
I can only talk to and hear dead people...  
  
"WHAT?"

It even freaks out mutants when they first think about it. Scared me half to death, so I'm not surprised at your feelings, since I'm creepy enough to you already. Go ahead, do the finger-cross thing if you like. I'm used to it. She turned away as the Doctor came with some medicine and advice.  
  
"Spirit," the doctor said, "you can take these, but tonight you have to get some more sleep. That's the best thing for you. It looks like you've been up all night."  
  
I managed to sneak a look at what Spirit wrote after taking the aspirin. I **have** been up all night.   
  
"Promise me that you will go to bed at no later than 9:30 tonight."  
  
Spirit nodded slowly, then took off her sunglasses to rub them on her light blue shirt. She kept her eyes tightly closed as she did so. Once again she turned to me and stared long enough to make me squirm.  
  
"Please leave," I implored. "Just leave me alone."  
  
Okay. I'll stay away from you. But on one condition.   
  
"What? Are you guys keeping me here to turn me into a mutie-lover or something? I still don't for a moment admit that you are my sister."

No, no, no, she wrote. I don't ask for you to accept or love me. Ordinary people who look beyond the gray are rare. Just let me know that you're alive and you're here. Let me love you. That's enough. With that she left.  
  
"Wait! Were you the one who put these things next to me?" I received no reply, for she was gone. Eventually the doctor brought me some breakfast, which I decided to eat. Feeling bored, I reached for the MP3 player and managed to get the earphones on with only my left hand. Though I was reluctant to accept the gifts, I couldn't stand another day of sitting and doing nothing. To my surprise, the first song was the same as the one I'd heard on Jeff's bus.  
  
_[Another love before my time made your heart sad and blue  
  
And now my heart is paying for things I didn't do...  
  
...Why can't I free your doubtful mind, and melt your cold, cold heart?]  
_  
The lyrics stuck in my head in an earnest way that bothered me, making me feel guilty. I put the music aside and dug out some books. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I spent an entire day reading and brooding, and I was all alone.  
  
'Let me love you', Spirit had written, seeming completely sincere. The thought tore at my conscience. Part of me pitied her, but most of my mind was full of hostility and bitterness. Crystal said that she loved me, and see how it turned out. _Snap out of the sentiment, Ryan, she's gone forever. She's not yours anymore. And this girl has nothing to do with you. Liars, all_ of them. First they suck up to you, then they hurt you, then they leave you. It's all the _same_. That was what the angry part of me kept saying. Something else in my brain, however, focused on other things: the photographs, the kindness, the anonymous donation that saved me from torturous boredom, and the tear that dropped from Spirit's hidden eye. This would take a long time to settle, but I had a long time to wait.  
  
The next day was similar to the first, as was the day after that. After the first week I awoke to find a new set of books in the drawers, and new songs downloaded on the MP3 player, though the first song was always the same. A calendar with special event in musical history marked on it also appeared. X-Ray continued to tell me that she hadn't seen the donor. I became very tired of the solitude, but I still was paranoid about interacting with mutants. One day, out of sheer boredom, I played tic-tac-toe with myself. That didn't work too well. I missed my friends in New Jersey, and tried to imagine conversations with them. That failed, because I could only think about discussing my current problems. In short, I discovered true loneliness for the first time.  
  
This ended when, as Spy had predicted, the news leaked out. I began to see a steady trickle of teenagers with mysterious, invisible ailments who tried to gain admittance to the infirmary. The ones who managed to convince Dr. Ray would stare at me with no subtlety whatsoever, but would keep their distance. I would look out the window and try not to scream. Most of them, like Spy, looked alarmingly ordinary. Then I would see one walk through a wall instead of opening a door, or one who would send sparks crackling into the air, or one that sneezed and suddenly turned into three identical copies of himself. Then I would shiver and shrink towards the wall. I felt intensely miserable, and my dreams were filled with nightmares. This was the worst part of my life, full of anxiety, inner struggles, and a longing for companionship.


	4. A New Perspective

One day, a group of mutants with legitimate ailments arrived. I saw four of them at a distance too far to make out their physical characteristics, except that they were dressed in bizarre black uniforms. Three headed off to a different room, followed by Dr. Ray, while one changed went behind a screen, came out in hospital pajamas, and wearily shambled over to the bed next to mine. He dropped what looked like remains of a black leather outfit to the ground, along with a pair of singed black gloves.  
  
The boy looked to be about my age, with light hair and skin, pale blue eyes, and a mass of burns. His posture and closed eyes showed massive exhaustion, and he didn't say a word or move for several minutes. Then he muttered, "First mission, and I already ruined my uniform. Stupid Pyro." To my astonishment, he passed one hand over the more horrendous wounds, and thin sheets of ice covered them and promptly melted. He then made ice materialize on some nasty purple bruises, whispering, "Ahhh...." He opened his eyes. "Oh," he greeted me weakly, "hi. I've heard of you." His voice had a trace of Boston in it, softening and slurring the 'r' in 'heard'.  
  
"Is that a good thing or not?"  
  
"Well, your sister's pretty well known..."  
  
"She's not my sister."  
  
He shook his head slowly, closing his eyes once more. "You're a lot like my brother, Ronny. When he found out that I was a mutant, he called the cops."  
  
I wasn't sure what to say or think. On the one hand, I probably would have done the same. Yet, coming from the other side, it sounded pretty unfair to betray a brother like that. "What's your name?" I asked, to hide my inner conflict.  
  
"Bobby Drake; they call me Iceman, though."  
  
Dr. Ray coming to examine Iceman interrupted us. "No internal damage," she pronounced after one of her x-ray looks. "Don't apply any more ice to the burns. Too much will damage your tissues, though it was a good first-aid measure. Did you do the same for the teachers?"  
  
"Yeah," he answered. "Will they be okay?"  
  
"Of course. I won't let anything happen to them or you. You will be ready for the graduation ceremony next week, don't worry about that. You might have to wear bandages for the Senior Prom, though." He made a face, and she laughed. "Oh, don't you know that the 'surgery patient' look is in?" she joked, making him smile as if he was too tired to do more. "Use the burn salve whenever they start hurting again, and get plenty of sleep. Don't worry about anything, just rest, and have a drink if you get thirsty. I've put a bottle of water here, and I'll check on you in an hour or two, Bobby." She left.  
  
Though astonished at the friendliness that the two mutants showed to one another, I asked him, "How did that happen?"  
  
"How did what happen, the burns? We had a bit of a battle with the Brotherhood." Seeing my blank look, he continued quietly, "There is a group of mutants that believes that everyone who isn't a mutant will never be able to accept us and that we'll always be hated, feared, and persecuted. They call themselves the Brotherhood. There were more, once, but some died or went to prison. There are only three now, but they're all really powerful. The leader, Magneto, keeps coming up with grandiose, comic-book- bad-guy type plots to make mutants rule the earth, most of which involve wiping out everyone else. Professor Xavier used to be a friend of his, but he believes that other people can be convinced to change their minds about us. There are many people in the world who aren't mutants, yet don't hate mutants, but they're less common than the people who would like to see us all locked up. The Professor set this school up with his own money, which he inherited, to teach mutant teens to control their powers, let them get an education, stay protected from other people, and eventually have us fight Magneto's group once we're old enough, if our powers would be helpful."  
  
"Wait a minute. This sounds like some super-hero story or something. You're asking me to believe this?"  
  
"Would another explanation fit?"  
  
"Well...you could all be those mutant terrorists on the news."  
  
Iceman sighed despairingly. "That's the whole problem. If we fail anything, then the Brotherhood's actions go on the news and people blame ALL of us. But if we succeed, and save all you guys from extermination, then nobody hears about it, and everyone sighs in relief that "the mutant problem" is quiet for now. The problem is that people don't hear the whole story." He closed his eyes again and rolled away from me. "Believe what you want. I just want to sleep." Then, he said meditatively, more to himself then to me, "I don't blame John much anymore, though. Normies have hardly given us a reason to fight for them. But Professor X is a forgiving man." The only thing I heard from him afterwards was a quiet snore.  
  
I sat staring into space for a while, pondering the new information. When Dr. Ray came back, I asked her, "Do you happen to have a student here named Crystal Norman?" My voice was shaking, for I had been too afraid to ask that question before.  
  
"No," answered X-Ray. She didn't ask for the reason of my inquiry, which I was deeply grateful for.  
  
"Well, could you please tell Spirit that...she can come talk to me...if she wants." There was a pause. "And...her friend Spy can come too, if she's not too mad at me."  
  
Dr. Ray smiled. "She'll be happy to know you're thawing."  
  
"I'm not thawing, I just want to ask her a few things. Tell her that I still don't for a moment admit any connection between us. I don't at all." _Thawed by an Iceman,_ I thought. _What a weird idea, I mean, it's a total oxymoron.  
_  
Yet I couldn't help remembering..._Why can't I free your doubtful mind, and melt your cold, cold_ _heart?_ Those words were starting to haunt me now. My brain told me to stay away from these people, but the song was digging claws into my heart. I griped for a while that not only had my life been turned upside down, my judgment seemed to also be going crazy. There was nothing I could do now, though, except open my ears to someone who waited patiently to get in. It was difficult to stay scared of a little girl who left me alone if I asked her to. My view of the school now was that they were trying to convert me into being one of those pro-mutant activists, which I refused to do. I firmly resolved to not let them change me. Disturbingly, however, I had an uneasy feeling that I was too late, and that, with the new perspective that the other boy (my thoughts called him a boy instead of a **freak **or **mutant**, I realized) had given me, the changes were already beginning... 


	5. Another Love Before My Time

When I woke up the next day, there she was. Spirit, I mean, sitting on the chair. I gave a little yelp. "So – sorry," I apologized, "you just surprised me."  
  
She wrote: It's okay. Thanks for letting me talk to you.   
  
Something sparked my curiosity. "By the way, can't you learn sign language?" Her answer was a series of rapid gestures and waves with her gray-furred hands. "What was that?" I asked.  
  
That meant, "I did learn sign language. Jim ordered a book on American Sign Language, both the letter-by-letter kind and the word-by-word kind, from Amazon.com, and taught it to himself for my birthday present, then gave me the book for Christmas. But otherwise nobody else around here understands it. This notepad works better." As she wrote, I noticed that her palms and the fronts of her fingers had no fur, and were the same yellow-tan shade as mine.  
  
"Oh, right. Who's Jim? And how'd you learn to read lips, then?"  
  
By watching TV with no captions. After a while I just figured it out, though Jim offered to get closed captioning, I prefer the practice. Even hearing people can learn how. Most people call Jim "Techie (pronounced Tekky)" He's my other best friend, and Spy's boyfriend.   
  
For some reason it never occurred to me that mutant teens dated people too, just like we did. Nor had I thought about them giving birthday presents to each other, having classes and dances, and so many other normal things. I said, "I was just wondering, that's all." She didn't answer. I hate awkward pauses, even with someone who disturbs me. "Were you the one who left this table here?" I inquired.  
  
Do you think it was me?   
  
"Well, I can't think of anyone else who would want to..." I almost said, "suck up", but changed my mind. "Do that for me..." I finished lamely. Then I had the oddest feeling, as if I was talking to someone in jail, in those little booths with the glass between the two people. She seemed friendly, and I did feel a desire to talk to her, but I was wary of her and on my guard. That, along with her deafness, created a barrier between us. I decided to be honest. "I haven't given you much reason to be nice to me. I never thought you'd try, and I find it really surprising that seeing me is so important to you. Why?"  
  
She sighed silently and then she wrote me another message. You don't want to believe I'm your sister, because you can't accept me as I am. But you did before. Before we were separated. I know you don't remember, but your morals are still the same. I think you're the irrational one. Why do my genes bother you so much? I know that most people hate mutants, but you were never one to follow the crowd. This deep-seated animosity doesn't come from just that.   
  
I grabbed the paper and her pencil. I happen to be left – handed. You know what, little girl? I wrote, stored-up bitterness spilling out. You're right. When I was your age, I had no special fear or dislike towards mutants. I hoped not to have to deal with one, ever, but I didn't have a particular problem. It just wasn't an issue with me. I was busy with my own life, and I was just starting to get interested in this one girl. Her name was Crystal Norman. We started going out while both of us were fifteen. I'd dated before, but I was more serious about her. We had been friends before then, so we already knew each other well. Usually high school kids don't keep a long relationship, right? Ours was long: I had just turned seventeen when we went on our final date, almost six months ago.   
  
A lump started to rise in my throat, which made me angrier. I quit writing, and as soon as she'd read it, I continued in an intense whisper, "I took her out to dinner, and we went into a corner table where nobody could see us, for privacy. She told me that she had gotten a scholarship to a really good college that she wanted, and had received the news only just before. She was so happy. I congratulated her with a kiss, and told her that I had been accepted to the same place. As she hugged me, something really weird happened. I couldn't move, or speak, or see or hear. I felt an enormous cold that started on my mouth and shoulders, which moved all over me, like being encased in frozen steel. Then I couldn't breathe. What seemed like ours later, I broke free. She was sitting in front of me, her eyes wide. There were little flakes of rock all over the table and the floor. I reacted...how anyone would if they had been turned to stone. I said some things I didn't really mean, but she had scared me half to death! Then she ran away. She left me. Left me there.  
  
"I called the next day, once I'd cooled off, to apologize for yelling at her. Her parents said she hadn't come home that night, and asked me if I knew anything about it. They never found her. Never ever heard from her again. The local news covered it for a while. A lot of people asked me what happened, but I wouldn't tell. And I hate her for doing that to me. She never said goodbye...and I hate her. We would've been happy, if she hadn't been a mutant. I couldn't stand living there any more, so I left and ended up here. And I'm not about to let you change me! I hate you all, because if it wasn't for mutants, I would know where she was..."  
  
My tone was fierce, but my eyes started to swim. I turned to the window to keep Spirit from seeing tears. I felt ashamed. She touched my shoulder and I turned to face her, then said, "Why did I tell you? I hate you too, you know. Because you, all you people, remind me of her."  
  
So a mutant broke your heart, and now you hate all mutants because of that. I could detect no emotion behind her black lenses. Her statement made me furious, because, put that way, my feelings seemed stupid.  
  
But they aren't, I told myself, then I told her, "I'm telling you so that you won't waste any more time trying to 'convert' me. I asked the doctor if Crystal came here, but she isn't here. I'll bet she joined what you call the Brotherhood, then. In any case, I'm NOT GOING TO CHANGE. You get that? That was the ONLY reason I said you could come talk to me."  
  
She spent a minute considering what to write, then she wrote it and held it up to me. Actually, that isn't quite true. You're sitting on a fence. Your pain and life-long prejudices remain, but now that you've seen mutants up close, you have a hard time maintaining your hatred. No, I can't read minds, but I can talk to someone who knows you really well. Do you know how bad our parents feel about this alienation?   
  
"I refuse to consider you a sister."  
  
Why? It's biologically possible, you know. The mutation gene is always generally recessive, but always carried by the male parent. Dad was a mutant, but it was statistically unlikely that either of us would turn out that way.   
  
I didn't want to believe it. My ideas were all bashing their heads against brick walls. Spirit waited patiently, but when I continued to be silent, she wrote, Do you want me to tell you where Crystal is?   
  
"Y-you know?" I blurted out.  
  
I'm really sorry to tell you this, but she's dead. She committed suicide that night. That's what she says, anyway. Her presence is very strong around you. All the dead have a "focus point", so to speak, with a person or place that is his or her strongest link to life. That's where I hear them best. I wanted you to be ready to talk about it before I told you.   
  
"No..." A tear trickled down my face, which I wiped away. "Could you please leave me alone for a while?" I whispered. "Was it my fault?"  
  
I'm **really** sorry.   
  
"Please leave me alone for a while."  
  
She nodded. May I come back later?   
  
I wanted to say no. Selfishly, I wanted to punish the bringer of the bad news. But I had been unfair to one girl already; it would be a crime to treat this one like dirt as well. For that was what I realized I had done: I had been very unkind to Crystal. This epiphany shocked me, and I needed time to think. Yes, and I needed time to cry for the first time in years.  
  
"You-you can come back. Just leave me alone for now."  
  
Spirit cautiously grasped my left hand, squeezed it, and rose from the chair. Another surprise for in the past few days: I didn't shudder. As she walked out, she left a "Get Well" card next to the still sleeping Iceman. Then I noticed that someone had placed a box of tissues near my side the previous night, which I was very grateful for. 


	6. Visitors

Author's Warning: The following chapter contains a fair amount of sentimentality, though hopefully not at Hallmark levels.  
..............................  
"Hey, are you okay?" I heard a voice behind me say as I faced the window. "That's a big pile of Kleenex."  
  
In the typical teen male fashion, I answered, "Shut up." Unfortunately to my pride, my voice shook. I turned my head slowly, trying not to hurt my broken bones. It didn't work. "Ow," I said under my breath, and couldn't help sniffling.  
  
It was Iceman who was talking to me, now sitting halfway up. He looked more awake than he had the day before. "What happened? Did your sister –I mean – that girl upset you?"  
  
"Please continue to shut up."  
  
"Look, I'm just trying to –"  
  
"D-d-drop it! OKAY?"  
  
"Help..." Iceman finished weakly, dropping back into a supine position. "Fine then." He left me to my guilty sulk.  
  
I collapsed onto my back as well, exhausted. _I can't believe she's dead. Killed herself. No,_ _Spirit's lying to confuse me. Crystal isn't dead. It's all a lie... Forget it, she is dead. Gone, lost,_ _and never to forgive me. What kind of person am I?_ Such thoughts had occupied me for what seemed like years since Silent Spirit had left me. After the first shock, I had alternated grim calm with fierce grief and self-hatred. The mutant beside me had broken through my mental ranting, but it soon swallowed me up again. _I shouldn't have pushed her away,_ I thought. _I _ _shouldn't have. I shouldn't have. I shouldn't_...I closed my eyes to keep tears from flowing out.  
  
Suddenly, in the middle of all this, another thought entered my mind, one I hadn't thought of before. _But if you believe that you should have treated your girlfriend the same as you had treated her before her mutation appeared, then does this mean that you believe she wasn't dangerous, after all?  
_  
Without meaning to, an answering thought of mine came. _Well, I really don't want to admit that. It seems too obvious. She didn't become a different person, all of a sudden. She was still vulnerable. Crystal always did overreact. But if I believe that statement, how can I justify fearing all these mutants, if they are the same as they were before their mutations appeared?  
_  
"How, indeed?" My eyes flew open. Between my bed and Iceman's was the Professor. "Forgive me for eavesdropping, but you are broadcasting your thoughts very widely. Intense emotion is difficult for telepaths to ignore."  
  
"Oh crap. You caught that?" I wanted to sink so far into the ground that I would come out in Australia. "So it was you who made that statement. I thought that was my idea!"  
  
Iceman inquired, "What are you talking about?"  
  
"He read my mind," I said shortly.  
  
"Oh."  
  
Professor Xavier turned his wheelchair towards Iceman. "I actually was coming to say hello to Bobby here. Do you think you'll be able to join us today?"  
  
He made an effort to sit up. "I guess so, if X-Ray says I can."  
  
"Not till tomorrow!" she called out from her office, several beds away. Iceman sank onto his back again, and kept quiet for the rest of the Professor's visit.  
  
I put a pillow over my head, trying to bury my face. "Oh, man. You can't keep secrets in this place!" It felt like everyone was listening to me.  
  
The Professor smiled gently. "It is rather difficult, unless one happens to be a mute who can erect mind barriers as well."  
  
"Can anyone here do that?"  
  
"Spirit can."  
  
"Aargh!" I moaned. "Why won't anyone stop going on about her?"  
  
He sounded like any teacher explaining a concept to a confused student. "Because she is very concerned about you, almost to the point of obsession."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Dr. Ray caught her sneaking in at 2 AM to see you."  
  
"Oh, so she IS the one leaving the books and things." _Freaky,_ I thought.  
  
_Spirit has always been a bit set apart from the rest of the students, just because of the unusual_ _qualities of her gifts_, he thought to me.  
  
My mind screamed, _She freaking' talks with dead people!  
  
That is a way of putting it. My point is that she is exceedingly worried about your acceptance or lack thereof, of her, especially because she often feels cut off from society.  
_  
_Which means?  
_  
His firm glance looked straight at my eyes. _Spirit is lonely, and has been for most of her life. She deeply wants some remnant of her family alive and back with her again.  
_  
I protested aloud, "But that's not my problem. You still haven't proved her claim that we're...siblings." It was a word that was hard for me to say.  
  
Professor Xavier replied, "There is plenty of proof, but none that you are willing to believe. The only evidence that you could not accuse us of fabricating is buried in your own brain."  
  
"Oh no. Ohohoho no," I said. "You're not going to mess with my head. I like it the way it is."  
  
"Ryan, I know that you've often wondered what you've forgotten, what your life truly was like before you lost contact with your family." He sounded deeply sincere. "When I initially read your mind, I was unable to go past the wall that has sealed off part of your memory. The wall, I believe, is a combination of your head injury and simple fear of the past being something that you cannot accept. One of the teachers at the Institute also has amnesia, much worse than yours. I failed to untangle the knot preventing him from recalling much of his life, but I learned in the process that unlocking memory is much easier when the subject desires it as well. If you are willing to let me in, and consciously try to remember, I am almost certain that I could give you back much of your early childhood."  
  
Give it back...  
  
I had wished to remember my first life for years. When I was younger I used to fantasize that my father would turn out to be alive, and that he would find me again. He took all sorts of forms in my mind, but usually I had imagined someone who looked like me, who wouldn't ever yell at me, and liked me the way I was. I also wondered what it would be like to have a mother who could talk to me about ordinary things, and didn't make every discussion into a debate or interrogation. Never had it occurred to me that my actual parents might not have matched up to this image.  
  
And never, ever had it entered into my wildest nightmares that one of them would have been a mutant. Dad was a mutant too, I remembered Spirit telling me. I wanted it to be a lie, but what if my memories proved something that I didn't want to be true? People say that the truth will set you free, but also that it hurts. What kind of freedom would be worth such pain? If everything Silent Spirit, her friend, and these people in the school said was true, my entire belief system and all my values would have to undergo a thorough overhaul. It didn't seem worth it.  
  
"No," is what I wanted to say. I wanted to tell Professor Xavier that I appreciated having his staff getting me into their hospital, not murdering me, and asking for my permission to 'unlock the memories', but he could just forget about invading my past. But just at that moment, I saw Spirit walk in the door.  
  
She was quietly dressed in a pale green, short-sleeved shirt and blue jeans that were cut off at the mid-shin point. Her gray fur didn't jar me quite so much anymore, and that silver hair – looking at it a certain way, it was almost cute. With those sunglasses it was impossible to know what emotions were in her eyes, but when she turned towards me a sweet, hopeful smile brought life to her face. I suddenly thought of Crystal, and how she had always greeted me with a smile just like that. The killer was that Spirit had a clarinet in her hands and mouth, and I recognized the tune she played. It was "Cold, Cold Heart."  
  
Reluctantly, my suspicious (and bigoted) self yielded to my softer side. "I'll think about it," I told the Professor, slowly. "It's a big step to take."  
  
Did I catch a knowing smile on his face? I hadn't felt any foreign thoughts in my decision, but it would have been very easy for him to 'hear' my inner conflict. "Very well," was all I heard him say.  
  
Silent Spirit arrived by my bedside, unaware of what had just happened. She signed a 'hello' with one hand, holding her clarinet in the other. I signed one back. When she looked at me quizzically, I explained, "I took a sign language course in middle school. I forgot all of it except 'hello' and 'goodbye'." Actually, I remembered some other words as well, but not ones that I thought I'd use with her.  
  
"I'll leave you two together, then," Professor Xavier said. "Bye then, Bobby," he added, though Iceman seemed to be asleep again.  
  
"Wait!" called out a girl's voice. I recognized Spy heading towards us, with a boy that I took to be her boyfriend trailing after her. "Professor, I need to tell you something."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
She seemed agitated. "I had a vision just a moment ago, and I think that someone is going to be kidnapped again."  
  
_My goodness,_ I thought, resigning myself to the mutant invasion, since I couldn't really do anything about it. _She can tell the future?  
_  
_Sometimes,_ she answered me without moving her mouth. _But my mind-reading skills are better.  
  
I hate it when you do that!  
_  
The Professor sighed and rubbed his temples. "So is that why Magneto came last time?"  
  
"I think so, but I have no idea who he's after. Could you use Cerebro to find out?"  
  
The boy spoke for the first time. "Spy, Magneto doesn't tell his associates anything until they have to know, and you know that the Professor can't read his mind."  
  
"Quite right, Jim, I'm afraid. But we do have that new security system in place, which did help last time. I will go talk to the teachers about it, all right, Spy?"  
  
She nodded. "I have a really bad feeling about this, but that helps." Spy must have been updating Spirit on the conversation, for the furred mutant gave her a reassuring hand squeeze. I noticed that the one they called Jim held Spy's hand as well, but for much longer.  
  
"Do you know when it will happen?" asked the Professor.  
  
"Sometime this week, that's all I know. I'm sorry that it's vague," Spy said.  
  
To comfort her, Jim pointed out: "At least it's better than nothing."  
  
"He's right. Don't be too upset. We've managed attacks before, and we will do so again. Goodbye, then," said Professor Xavier, wheeling his chair away.  
  
The boy looked at me, slightly nervously. He had light brown hair and hazel eyes framed by thick glasses, and looked like he had just shot up in height but hadn't filled out properly yet. "Hi," he began. "You can call me Techie, if you like."  
  
"Where did that nickname come from?" I asked.  
  
Spirit perched herself on the windowsill while Spy pulled up an extra chair for Techie. She maneuvered her chair to be next to her female friend, but all three were close enough to touch. I sensed that they had been a strong trio for quite some time. Explained Techie, "I can control any machine involving electronics. I have to be touching it, but I just sort of tell it what to do." He broke off and did some sign language to Spirit, who grinned and answered him.  
  
"I get it," I said. "But you guys said that you're going to be attacked again?"  
  
Spy asked if I knew about the Brotherhood.  
  
"Iceman told me some," I answered, waving a hand in his direction. "But I didn't really believe it."  
  
"It is hard to believe," admitted Techie. "The funny thing is that they seem to really like kidnapping people from here. They've tried for Rogue, Kitty, Remy, and, oh, I dunno..."  
  
"They convinced Pyro to join them," added Spy. "I can't even remember all the people they took. Good thing the teachers always get them back."  
  
"Always?" I queried.  
  
"Yeah," said Techie. "I've never known them to lose. We all look up to them, even Wolverine, who drinks and swears, but is still a good guy."  
  
Before I could digest this, Silent Spirit tapped me on the shoulder. I turned my head to look at her. "Why'd you bring that clarinet?" I asked her. She blew a note and did a wistful look. "You want to play it for me?" She nodded. "Go ahead, then."  
  
Spirit played a tune I had never heard before, but it sounded nice. I had to admit that she was a good musician. When she finished, I asked Spy, "How does she have us hear it, when we can't here anything else she does?"  
  
"For some reason," explained Spy, "her own clarinet is the only thing that she, us, and the...other people she talks to can hear as well."  
  
_Other people? _I thought, then with a shock suddenly remembered that Silent Spirit talked to the dead. I looked at her again, and the new eyes that had accepted her were taken away, and I saw her as a freak once more.  
  
_I wish you wouldn't_, Spy's thought came.  
  
_And I wish you'd stay out of my head!_ I mentally yelled at her. She winced.  
  
Techie detected a new strain in the atmosphere, and tried to change the subject. "You know, Ryan," he said, "you were actually here the last time the Brotherhood came here. Their car hit you while they were making their getaway. You know, that's why the teachers didn't get them, because they had to bring you in here, and by that time they were gone."  
  
My eyebrows went up. "Oh," I said weakly, sinking back into my pillows. The conversation and music had made me forget the pain in my ribs and limbs. They reminded me of themselves again, with a vengeance. "I never asked. I had other things to think about. Wait, how did I get here in the first place?"  
  
Spy said, "Spirit wonders how did you as well."  
  
I cast my mind back to that day. "Well," I said carefully, "the morning before I hitched a free ride on an empty bus. I told the driver that I was heading to New York City to become a musician. He recommended a bus to take, and that the last stop was in Westchester, near a private school. I got on that other bus and fell asleep. That bus driver threw me out at the last stop, which was near here. And then that car hit me." Another thought struck me. "What I find really weird is that I ended up near here at all. What are the odds?"  
  
Spy furrowed her eyebrows. "What did the bus driver looked like?"  
  
I described him, and the route he traveled.  
  
"What was his name?"  
  
"Jeff."  
  
Techie's jaw dropped, and Spy began to laugh. "What?" I asked. "What's so funny?"  
  
Techie, when he managed to produce a sound again, told me, "If he had green eyes, then it was definitely Jeff. We call him Sandman."  
  
Now it was my turn to be stupefied. "So he was a mutant! I got a flash of his eyes, but I thought that –"  
  
"That a mutant wouldn't be that nice?" spat out Spy.  
  
I sank a little further into the mattress. "Well, yeah."  
  
She shook her head. "That's the whole attitude that drives me insane. Why can't everyone be like JIM'S parents? Why doesn't anyone realize that none of us are ANY different than how we were before, except that we can do a few more things? WHY?"  
  
"Calm down," Techie whispered, kneading her shoulders. "Don't wake Bobby up." While she fumed, he said to me, "She's upset because her parents dumped her forever while mine let me come home for Christmas and the summer."  
  
I wasn't sure what to say, settling for, "Gee, that sucks."  
  
He brushed it aside. "Anyway, Jeff is a friend of ours. He meets a lot of runaway mutant teens, and he brings them here. Sometimes he drives us on a field trip, and on the last one, Spy told him about Spirit. Poor SS couldn't come for fear of freaking out the tourists. I guess Spy must've told Jeff about you as well."  
  
All I could answer was: "Oh." There was a moment of awkward silence. "Why do you call him Sandman?"  
  
Spy spoke again, emotions under control. "His power is to control sleep. He can make people fall asleep for a certain period of time, read their dreams, or analyze them. When he heard your last name, did he ask about your life?"  
  
"Yeah, and I told him about my amnesia too. Are you saying that he made me fall asleep long enough to miss all the stops except this, in the hopes that I would meet Spirit?"  
  
All three mutants nodded.  
  
For the umpteenth time that day, I had to say, "Oh, man. Do I control my life anymore?"  
  
"Guess not," said Techie. "You know, the entire school knows about you."  
  
"Gee, y'think?"  
  
"Some people are making wagers over whether you'll accept Spirit as your sister or not. Will you? Because if you don't decide that she's telling the truth, I'm going to owe my allowance to my friend, Artie, for the next month."  
  
"Jim!" Spy scolded.  
  
"Everybody's holding his or her breath," he amended.  
  
I shrugged, and heard my shoulder crack. Grimaces all around, SS included. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but I don't know. To be fair, now that I've gotten to know some of you, you don't seem so bad after all, and Spirit seems very sincere. However, to be honest, I am very hesitant about staying here. I'm not one of you!"  
  
Spy said, "Spirit says 'But you are. You're a Sing, and we two are supposed to belong to each other.' You know what? I agree. But very few normies I've met care anything about family ties, so I don't expect you to be any different."  
  
That hurt. I began to feel miserable. "I can't tell you guys, because I don't know what I think myself. Please leave me alone."  
  
"That's what you always say! What about Myra? Don't you care about her feelings at all?"  
  
Techie said, firmly, "Spy, let's just go. You're not doing any good."  
  
"Fine. But, Ryan Sing-"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You don't deserve to be related to her." The two left.  
  
Spirit clambered off the windowsill, but paused for a moment. Her head shaking seemed more sad than angry, making her silver hair catch the light and sparkle. Though her shoulders were drooping, I had a sense that she wanted to apologize for her friend's behavior.  
  
"No," the word came out of my mouth. "I should be sorry." I waited for her to go, but she stayed, seeming to be waiting for something more. "Yes, I suppose you can come back," I said. "But I can't say more than that. I have less idea that you do."  
  
She smiled sadly, and involuntarily glanced at the family picture that she had placed by my side. A final nod, and she left.  
  
Now alone again, I sighed deeply, closing my eyes. Why did life have to be so complicated?


	7. Concession and Confession

A note to readers: The internet here has been erratic lately, so I don't know the next time I'll be able to post the next chapter. But it will come! I'm working on it already.

The following day, a Saturday, was a quiet one. Iceman was released from Dr. Ray's care as soon as she would let him go. Silent Spirit came to visit me very early in the morning, and stayed until Dr. Ray shooed her out to have lunch. Most of the time she played her clarinet for me. I learned that I enjoyed her visit much better if I closed my eyes while she played, for when I looked at her she reminded me of my dilemma. By now I hated to say anything unkind to her, but I think she knew the struggle I had trying to be nice. SS was extremely devoted, which made me even more resentful because it increased my sense of guilt. Sometimes I mentally cursed her for being so darn hard to push away. Because of this, I felt some guilty relief when X-Ray sent Spirit away.  
  
"And how are you feeling today, Ryan?" the doctor asked.  
  
"No worse than usual." Actually, I noticed that my ribs felt better than they had before.  
  
She warned, "I am going to have another look at your skeleton. I know you don't like it when I do this, but..."  
  
'That's okay. I'm getting used to people doing stuff I find unnerving." To my surprise, I truly was getting used to being here.  
  
Dr. Ray smiled dryly and did that x-ray-look-thing. "I have good news," she announced. "To my knowledge, your ribs are healed enough for you to be moved to a wheelchair."  
  
I could have given her a hug then and there. "Really?"  
  
"I think we should wait one more day, though, just to be on the safe side."  
  
Disappointment was my first reaction. Through the window I had watched games, sports, and even lunches being done outside, in day after day of perfect summer weather, and cabin fever was driving me crazy. Then worry. "What about Spy's prediction?" I asked. "If something happens tonight and I'm still bed-ridden, I won't be able to get away."  
  
X-Ray assured me, "Oh, don't worry about that. The hospital wing has never been invaded, except for once, nearly three years ago, and that was when all the teachers were gone but one. It's unlikely that anything will happen tonight in any case."  
  
"But, but...oh, I give up. I can never argue with doctors."  
  
She grinned. "One of the perks of the job."  
  
"Since we are talking about me right now, can I ask something? What are you planning to do with me when I'm back to normal?"  
  
"You make it sound like you're a hostage or something."  
  
"Well," I admitted, "at first I thought that I might be. But you've been too kind, so I'm not quite sure what to think."  
  
Now serious, she said, "How about that no decent person with an empty hospital and enough money would leave an injured boy on the road to die?"  
  
I dodged her statement. "But what about my original question?"  
  
"It's mainly up to you. If you wish to leave, someone here will send you to the bus station as soon as you can walk. If you wish to stay, I'm sure that Professor Xavier can find a way."  
  
"I couldn't stay here. I've finished school already."  
  
"I believe that he is thinking more about a teaching position. There are only four teachers here, you know. Five once Bobby graduates."  
  
I shook my head. "All of you are very kind, but I don't really see it happening."  
  
"And why not?"  
  
"Um..." That was a hard one, and I had to think my answer over for a few minutes. "Because I ran away from home for a purpose. I wanted to be free of my foster parents and follow my dreams. Being a teacher isn't one of them. I want to see if I can succeed as a professional musician. I don't want to be tied down here and vanish from the world just when I want the world to find out about me."  
  
"If that's want you want, dear," she said without a hint of disapproval. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go handle some paperwork. I double as secretary sometimes." X-Ray left. Somehow it felt like she had won, not me.  
  
Spirit came back presently, now without the instrument. You okay? she wrote on her notepad.  
  
"Yeah..." I began. But that felt dishonest, so I said, "Actually, not really."  
  
Why?   
  
I decided that this was a good time as any to lie the cards on the table. "I'm going to be honest with you, SS. No more secrecy. I never thought I would want to stay here, and I still don't think so. I'm going to leave as soon as my leg heals. Today the doctor told me that I would be able to get off this bed tomorrow and get onto a wheelchair. In a few weeks I'm getting on a bus to New York City."  
  
Her shoulders drooped again, but she didn't cry or try to argue. I see... was all she wrote.  
  
"The problem is, you're a nice kid. I hate to hurt you like this. I know that it makes you happy to be around me, or else you wouldn't keep coming back. I know that you are just as nice as anyone without a mutation because of the presents you've given me, and how fair you've been. I know that you really want your family again, because of how you treasure those two pictures of yours and what's written on the back. I know that your claim that you're my sister has very good evidence supporting it. I am willing to believe that you are my sister. But I don't want to be your brother." This wasn't going well at all. Her lip started to quiver.  
  
"Look, Spirit," I explained, "it's not that I hate you. You've been kinder than I would ever expect someone in your circumstances to be. I'm very grateful for your visits. I've seen enough to know that everyone here loves you in spite of your differences. I have grown to admire and respect you a lot. In you I've gained a new understanding of mutants. But I'm not ready to be the brother of one. I don't feel a connection with you strong enough for me to give up my dreams. We were happier apart, Spirit. Maybe I shouldn't call you Spirit anymore. You've proven yourself to deserve a human name: Myra Sing."  
  
I took a deep breath and summed it all up. "I see that, but I don't want to be Ryan Sing. I want to be Ryan Stevens."  
  
She didn't respond or answer. Her face had become expressionless. I touched her arm, and she didn't move. "Hello?" I said. "Are you okay?" There was still no response for many minutes, enough to worry me severely. She had become a silver statue.  
  
Then I saw her mouth move: "Mom, Dad, why?" was what I saw her lips shape, though I heard nothing. No tears came from under her black sunglasses' frame.  
  
I begged her, "Please, tell me something."  
  
The thin, silver-haired girl rose to her feet and walked away. But before she turned, she did a hand sign that hurt me more than any insult could have done. She put two fingers up, two down, and her thumb spread across the middle. I recognized it, because it is probably the most well known phrase in sign language:  
  
"I love you."


	8. Fire Again

I have always slept badly when I feel bad about something, and it took a great deal of tossing and turning that night for me to drop off. Finally, though, I was wandering in my dreams. The dream I had that night is one of the most vivid of all I can remember. It must have been echoing my anxieties, though I now believe that my subconscious was also trying to tell me something.  
  
In my dream I was heading on a bus to New York, just like I had planned, without a sign of injury. For some reason, Crystal was there, too, sitting beside me. Like in most dreams, I didn't question anything strange. We talked excitedly about what we'd do in the city once we arrived. When we got off at the stop, however, there was no city. There was only a graveyard, at night, and the moon was shining.  
  
"How weird," I dreamed Crystal saying.  
  
"Let's go look," I replied. There were three huge tombstones in the center of the other graves, covered in moss and ivy. I cleared it away.  
  
"Charles Sing", said one, and "Lily Sing," was next to it. I turned to Crystal, and she was gone. The final one said, "Crystal Norman." Underneath the names, they all said, "Why Ryan, Why?" I gasped, horrified. Then there was a fourth stone that I hadn't seen before, with the same inscription, and "Myra Sing" was carved above it.  
  
Then the trees and dead flowers burst into flame, and all at once it turned into my old nightmare of being trapped in a burning building. I was seven years old again, and crying for Daddy. He walked out of the inferno, with a face just like mine, but with sunglasses on. "Daddy!" I called, relieved. "You came for me!" He took his glasses off, and his eyes were all black, with no whites at all. They were cold and unfeeling. "Why should I save you?" he said. "You reject me and your sister. Why don't you spit on my grave while you're at it? I should have left you here to die." I choked on tears, trying to say I was sorry and promise to be better.  
  
But before I could speak, a terrible, high, reverberating SOUND ripped me away.  
  
I woke up sweating and immediately sat up, then grabbed my ears. It had all been a dream, except for the sound. It was like a girl's scream, but almost ultrasonic in its shrieks, infinitely louder, and like having needles raining into your ears. For my broken arm it was torture to be held up, but not having my ears blocked would have been much worse. Even with my hands there I had trouble thinking.  
  
My eyes frantically darted around for the source of the noise. The first thing I noticed was that the glass in my window had shattered, the shards fallen outside. The second thing was that a helicopter was parked out there, and a figure was running towards it. The third thing was when I looked over the other side of my bed. Silent Spirit was beside me, curled up on the next bed and asleep, without her sunglasses, and wearing disarmingly cute pajamas. I realized that she couldn't hear the screaming, and wondered why the heck she was there. She was too far away for me to shake her. Desperately, I hoped that we would be okay. My dream made me nervous. I didn't want to be the indirect cause of another girl's death.  
  
At long last the siren ended. Sighing with relief, I wondered what I was supposed to do next. _Nothing is going to happen,_ I told myself. _X-Ray said that nobody attacks the hospital_ _wing...what the ---- is happening out there?_ Through the window I could see more people running towards the helicopter. What followed was a scene straight out of an action movie or comic book. Red lights flashed, thunder and lighting came out of nowhere, and yells and cries drifted up from the lawn. It was too dark for me to see anyone's faces, but it certainly was a dramatic scrap. _Please, God,_ I prayed, _please let all the trouble be down there, not in here. I_ _can't run, and I can't wake her up if she needs to flee. Or just at least may I be able to wake her if she needs it. I won't be picky.  
_  
My stomach seemed to run away when I looked out towards the door. First I smelled smoke, then I saw my worst phobia: fire. At the moment there was only an orange glow visible, but it was enough to send my adrenaline to new heights. I anxiously stared at Spirit on the bed beside me, and was struck by inspiration. With my good arm I reached out, took out one of the paperbacks she'd lent me, and gently tossed it at her. She moved but didn't open her eyes. I dropped another one, then another. Yes! Yes! It worked! At first her eyes opened feebly, then they bolted fully awake. I shivered to see them, since they were just like my father's in my dream. When she looked at me I couldn't see my own reflection in her eyes. They were as open and round as a frightened cat's.  
  
"Go now!" I whispered intensely. "Run. You can make it. Leave me here."  
  
She shook her head. Her mouth made a "no".  
  
"I don't want your death on my hands." I pushed her away from my side. Spirit sat down on the other bed, out of my reach again. She took a pen from the desk and wrote something on the back of the nearest piece of paper, which was the back of the family photo. "Turn around!" I said, urgently.  
  
She turned, and saw what I saw. Coming towards us was a boy. He was about my age, which I still find terrifying, even more frightening than what we saw him doing. In his hands, but not touching them, were spheres of flame. When he swept his hands around the walls, the fire streamed out to them and caught onto the walls, licking them with orange tongues. He looked like any other kid off the street, except for the smile he had on his face, which was the most sadistically joyful thing I've ever seen. Plainly, he was burning for the sheer thrill of destruction. Then he noticed us, and an even bigger grin covered his face.  
  
"Well well well..." he drawled, "If it isn't the" something I will not write "we ran over. How appropriate. Do you like fire?"  
  
"You sick freak!" I yelled, involuntarily.  
  
He laughed. "Good one. And who's the girl?"  
  
Spirit stood up, and slowly walked towards him. Her silver hair was tangled and wild. She looked different than in the day, more...inhuman. No, that's not it. Unearthly is better, but doesn't quite describe it. Her mouth was moving, but I couldn't make any sense of it. The boy seemed to become slightly nervous, probably thinking that she was going to do something awful with an incredible power. I gulped in fright, certain that SS would be incinerated.  
  
"Don't mess with me!" commanded the boy, sending a fireball at both of us. She jumped in front of it. I screamed, for her fur caught on fire. Spirit was wreathed in flame, and had eyes of agony. She dropped to the ground and rolled, trying to extinguish the burning. He laughed and was growing another fireball, to send at me. I ducked and pulled the covers over my head, ignoring the pain in my arm and leg. This is it, I thought.  
  
Then a thump, and a crashing sound, followed by a burst of cool air. No fire struck me. I looked back out, and could have cheered. The fireball was now a shattered block of ice on the ground. The boy who had attacked us was lying, spread-eagled, on the floor, either dead or unconscious. Spirit was also on the floor, with frost encrusted all over her body. Standing at the door was Iceman, Spy, and Techie. Iceman was busy freezing the flames. "Thank goodness you're here!" I gasped out.  
  
Spy ran towards Spirit and put her ear to her friend's chest. "She's all right," she announced. "What about him?" she asked Techie, who was checking the boy, and had begun to push on his chest. "Hey, you know CPR?"  
  
"Not very well," he answered. "Pyro's heart has stopped. I'll take him to a teacher outside. Fast." He ran out, pulling Pyro's limp body after him.  
  
Pyro, I mused. Pyromaniac. How appropriate. It does sound better than "Arson". I shivered, and asked Spy, "Where were you? Why'd you come?"  
  
"Outside," she said. "There's an underground tunnel system that we take in an emergency, to evacuate. When I was running out I didn't have time to find Myra, but once I was safe I used my clairvoyance to find her. I knew you were in trouble, so I dragged Bobby along. Jim ran after us." She took a deep breath. "I am never going to let her come her again without me!"  
  
Iceman finished crystallizing the walls, and asked me, "Are you okay?"  
  
"I will be, thanks to you. How did you knock that guy out?"  
  
"Pyro?" he asked, spitting out the name. "I didn't do that. Did you, Spy?"  
  
"No," she said. "Myra did."  
  
"What? How..."  
  
"I'll explain once you help me get her onto the bed," she replied. The two of them lifted Spirit up and lay her down. Spirit opened her eyes, and smiled weakly. Spy must have telepathically told her to relax and rest, because she closed them again and fell asleep. The telepath-clairvoyant straightened the (very big) shirt she had worn to bed, and explained quietly and concisely. "Myra hasn't told anyone but me and the Professor, but nobody's asked, so I think it's okay. She found out that, somehow, she can just make someone's heart stop if she's afraid and threatened enough. It must be because she's so closely connected to death. We're not quite sure."  
  
"Creepy," said Iceman, wonderingly. "But useful. Guess I won't be playing any Halloween pranks on her."  
  
"And what was that sound?" I asked.  
  
Spy grimaced. "Siryn."  
  
"I know it was a siren, but where did you get the sound?"  
  
"No, no, SiRYN. Also known as Tracy. It's a recording of her screaming."  
  
I was about to open my mouth to say something else, but someone else joined us before I could speak.  
  
"We're okay, Logan," Iceman said to the man who rushed towards us. The man looked like he was in his late twenties or early thirties had strange sideburns that grew down to his jaw, was very muscular, and obviously didn't wear a shirt when he slept.  
  
"What happened?" Logan asked, looking around at the ice everywhere.  
  
"Pyro came, Wolverine, " Spy said. "He was burning the place down, and nearly killed Myra and Ryan. But we fortunately got here before he did. Didn't you see Jim dragging him away? Pyro was unconscious and badly hurt, and Jim wanted to get him to one of you teachers."  
  
Logan/Wolverine shook his head. "Must've missed him. Wait a minute..." He turned to the window. We all looked out. The helicopter that had landed outside rose in the air and took off. The wind created by its blades swept threw the room, then they were gone. "They're gone!" he shouted angrily, then swore.  
  
My nerves weren't in very good shape by now, so I (this is embarrassing) shrieked when the next person arrived. There was a popping sound, and a mutant suddenly appeared in the room. Then I supressed another yell at his appearance, not wanting to hurt his feelings. It was another adult, but he was a dark blue color, and had a tail! He only had pants and an undershirt on. And he was holding on, tightly, to Techie.  
  
"Jim!" exclaimed Spy, darting over to him. "Thank you, Kurt," she said to the blue man, who lay him down on another bed. "Where did you find him? Why is he hurt?"  
  
Techie said, sleepily, eyes still closed, "It's okay, Mandy. Just a cut and some bruises."  
  
"What happened to Pyro?" she asked.  
  
"Pyro? He's here?" Techie pushed himself up. "What's Spirit doing here? Why's the room frozen?"  
  
"But you were here a minute ago!" Then Spy froze, and whispered, "Mystique."  
  
Iceman slumped to the floor. "It would just have to be wouldn't it?" He sounded miserable.  
  
Wolverine said, "Do you mean she took him back? Oh no. Then they all got away."  
  
"What's this about?" asked Kurt. I noticed that he pronounced th a little bit like z, though it wasn't glaringly obvious. He saw me for the first time. "Oh, hello." His tone was mildly astonished but friendly.  
  
"I don't know either," I said. "Who's Mystique?"  
  
"A shape-shifter," Spy told me. "She can look and sound like any person. If I hadn't been so worried I could've read her mind and known, but..." She wrang her hands. "So they tried to kidnap Jim?"  
  
"Yes," answered Kurt. "But Techie stopped the engine, you see, so we were able to get him out again. Storm went off to make sure Professor Xavier was safe, so Scott and I took the boy back. Magneto had a knife and he put it to Techie's neck with his magnetism, and said he would kill him if he didn't fix the helicopter or if we stopped Magneto from leaving. I went in with Techie, and as soon as he finished I teleported us here."  
  
"But how-"I began, but Spy cut in.  
  
"Why don't we all go back to bed?" she said, "And leave these three here. I think everything will be explained tomorrow. Thank you for helping, Bobby. And, Kurt..." She gave the blue man a hug. He looked surprised but hugged her back. "Thank you for saving Jim. Good night, Wolverine." Then she stared at me, and smiled, thinking to me, _You've got plenty more to think about, Ryan.  
  
Why does that always happen?_


	9. Freed My Doubtful Mind

It turned out to be one AM when we were attacked, so there was plenty of time for more sleep. Though it sounds a bit weird, we all went to sleep again. You'd think that I would be staying awake and contemplating Spirit's actions and all, but drowsiness won the deal. I soon found myself dreaming again...if it was a dream. It seems more like a memory.  
  
I was very small. It was a sunny fall morning, and I was to go for my first day of first grade. My father was tying my shoes. He was dressed casually, with large sunglasses perched on his nose. We were by the door, in a cheerful suburban house. Toys were strewn on the carpeted floor. Skipping down the stairs came an even littler girl, with Minnie Mouse sunglasses, an orange jumper, silver hair, and gray fur.  
  
"Where's Wyan going, Daddy?" she asked, still in baby-talk stage.  
  
"He's going to school, Myra," he told her.  
  
"This time all day," I added.  
  
She pouted. "Can I go too?"  
  
"No, dear," said our father. "You'll have to be separated for a while."  
  
"But I'll miss him! Will he come back?" She ran to me and wrapped her arms around my neck.  
  
"Of course I will, kitten! A bus driver will bring me back to you, right, Daddy?" I carefully pulled her off.  
  
Our father replied, "Yes. See, honey? It will be okay."  
  
She was still worried. "But will you forget me?"  
  
I laughed. "Don't be silly, kitten."  
  
"Well, if fee ofer boys and girls are mean to you, fey have to deal wif me."  
  
We laughed good-heartedly at this. "Bye, then, sis," I said, opening the door.  
  
"You promise?" she pleaded.  
  
"Yes! I promise to come back and not forget you!" And I left her and my father, standing at the doorway, waving goodbye.  
  
I woke up. The sun streamed through the window frame, heating the room that couldn't be properly air-conditioned because of the broken glass. I looked at Spirit, sleeping peacefully. Then I realized what I had to do. I had promised, and I must not break that promise. When Dr. Ray came to check on me and put Spirit's sunglasses beside her, I asked her if she could get the Professor to come see me.  
  
When he first wheeled over, I wasn't quite sure how to begin. "Do you know what happened in here last night, sir?" I asked him.  
  
"Yes, I do. Does that influence your decision about my offer?"  
  
I felt sheepish. "Well, I hope it's still open."  
  
"It always is," he replied, in such a way that made me wonder how I had ever feared him.  
  
Then I remarked, "I once read an article about a woman who lost her memory in a car accident, and she no longer loved her daughter, because she didn't remember loving her. Could this be what happened to me?"  
  
"I do believe that remembering Spirit as your sister will help reconstruct a bond between you."  
  
"Does it help if I've regained one memory?"  
  
_What do you mean?  
_  
_I had a dream last night,_ I thought, and recalled what it had been. When I finished, he nodded.  
  
_Shock can help loosen the hold of amnesia. I am sure that I can do the rest_. Professor Xavier's mind was warm and confident.  
  
"What do you need me to do?" I whispered, remembering not to wake the two others.  
  
He murmured, "Just relax, and stay lying down." Then he put one hand on either side of my head, not touching my ears. "You're certain that you want to remember?"  
  
I stole another look at Spirit, then at the family photo. It was turned upside down, and I remembered that she had written on it. It said, I left you before. I won't again, ever. Even if I die.   
  
Taking a breath, I said, "Yes, I am certain. I owe her."  
  
Then I was back in the burning house, up on the second floor. An instinct in me screamed, _no,_ _no! I don't want to remember!  
_  
_Yes you do,_ came the Professor's thoughts, giving me courage. We can travel back further. _This was not the end, or the beginning.  
  
_Then it was as if I was watching a series of scenes, still from my own perspective, but me at many different ages. I suppose it was the same as when people say that they see their life "flash before their eyes". They passed by quickly, yet as they went, I felt more and more certain of who I was. The memories included birthday parties, blowing bubbles on the lawn, my father playing with me by hanging me upside down and me shrieking with delight, learning how to read, playing tag...there were hundreds of little details. And in all the memories was love and being loved. I remembered my father seeing in the dark and through walls, but being unafraid of this. Not being in the least bothered by mutants, for they included two people I loved best.  
  
Above all, I remembered Myra, or as I called her, "Kitten", because I liked her soft fur, and because we had a gray cat that looked like her. I remembered fighting over toys and arguing, but throughout we loved each other, the way brothers and sisters do. I tried to make her eat bugs, and she told on me all the time. We played make-believe games where she would be a nurse or mommy, and I would be an alien or cowboy. No matter how much we fought, and even if I made her cry, Myra would always kiss me on the cheek and say "sorry" or "it's okay" (though she pronounced it "otay").

Sometimes it seems ridiculous to me that it took a full restoration of my memory to restore my affection for a girl who did so much for me. And I have no excuse. I needed a slap in the face to show me what a jerk I was and how much I owed her. In my defense, however, think about your own family. What if, one day, you woke up and couldn't remember them? Even if you came to believe that you had once loved them, would the old love be the same? You would have to start all over, and it would take a long time. If that memory was suddenly regained, the love would hit you again, and you would wonder how you were so blind. That was was this did to me. It was like seeing my sister through a screen of smoke that suddenly disappeared, showing all that I had forgotten and unconsciously missed.   
  
When Professor Xavier broke the telepathic connection, I didn't say any of this. All I did was shake his hand, and very sincerely thank him. "Thank you, very much, sir."  
  
He smiled. "I am sure that Spirit will be very happy to hear the news. If you will excuse me..."  
  
"No problem, Professor. I know you're busy."  
  
At first I was dazed at the sudden collapse of the wall that had bricked off my childhood memories. I wondered about my future, because my "old" ethics and ideas had been replaced by my "new" morals, even though these were older than the fears I had been taught. But I knew that now I could see clearly, without prejudice. And I knew who this girl beside me was, and how truly she cared about me. That was worth turning my world upside down. It had been turned upside down before, and this was just correcting the error.  
  
I wondered how to best explain this to Myra. A phrase floated into my head, and I smiled. How appropriate, I thought.  
  
It wasn't long until my sister opened her eyes. She then quickly closed them, and reached for her sunglasses and put them on. Then she turned her head to look at me. I whispered, "I'm staying, kitten."  
  
Her mouth opened wide. In a single, smooth movement, she leaped out of the bed, threw her arms around my neck, and kissed me on the cheek. When she let go, I ruffled her hair with my unbroken arm. "I'll make it up to you, Myra. We have many years to catch up on. Oh, ow...be careful of the leg."  
  
"Aww," said a voice. Techie had woken up, and was grinning at me.  
  
"Twerp."  
  
"Better than 'nerd'. I got tired of that one. Now where are my glasses?"  
  
I laughed. "Seriously, Techie, you should've told me more about this sister of mine, before I had to go dredge up my childhood. By the way, Myra, why did you come here last night?" She grinned, and signed something to Techie. He told me, "She says that, since you were leaving, she wanted to spend as much time with you as possible."  
  
"Oh," I answered. "Well, thanks for saving me." When she shook her head modestly I joked, "Hey, even if you deny it, you still did indirectly. I doubt Spy would have paid any attention if I was the only one in here. She would have considered it a good riddance."  
  
Spy's boyfriend chuckled, signed something to Myra, and said, "You can call me Jim, too." Then the girl sitting next to me signed something else. Jim looked puzzled. "Who's Crystal?" he asked me.  
  
"Why?" I asked, prepared to be defensive.  
  
"Spirit says that Crystal forgives you."  
  
Instead of answering, I squeezed Myra's hand and whispered, "Tell her I love her. And you."  
  
Myra mouthed, "We know." But I'm not good at lip-reading, so it might have been, "We knew."  
  
I never did get around to asking.


	10. A Final Song

My part of the story is pretty much finished. There only remain a few threads to tie up. Both Raven Aorla and I would like to thank the readers who have given such kind and enthusiastic reviews. You will have already read "Silent Spirit", Spy's part in the telling of Myra's life, so you already know what happened, years later. There were many happy years after became a music teacher at Xavier's Institute for the Gifted, however. The students came to overlook my lack of mutation, and I became one of the staff. It was very much like having a large family, with many younger siblings. The bitterness of previous experiences was forgotten, and the present was full of joy. Of course there were headaches, and several times when we were all in danger, but it was worth the life we had.  
  
After Myra graduated, however, she wanted to not just forget the unhappy part of her life, but make sure that it never happened to anyone else. She, Spy, Jim, and I eventually merged into normal society again. We helped, but it was my sister who was a major inspiration for what became "The Mutant Freedom Movement". I dedicated myself to this, believing that if I could be convinced of the humanity of mutants, others could as well. I helped Myra write protest songs and organize ways we would lobby for anti- discrimination laws. She changed her name and, with the help of a device that Professor Xavier invented and Jim perfected, disguised herself to look "normal" when necessary. Another friend of Myra's is thinking about writing up an account of this period, more in detail. I think it can't come fast enough, but Raven Aorla is also busy with other stories.  
  
It still hurts to remember when my sister was shot, though it was the day when we had our victory. However, to fully finish my own tale, I must return to it. You see, I never saw my foster parents again after I left their house. Until then, that is.  
  
The season was spring, the time of beginnings, but the day of an end. The funeral service was over. Everyone had left, even my girlfriend. I sat alone in the first row, fingering my guitar, staring into space. They had asked me to bring it to her funeral, to play some of the songs she wrote and I spread. Even when I played, there were no tears. I was in a dream again, and felt a sense of unreality.  
  
Like in that dream I had years ago, I was staring at her tombstone next to Mom and Dad's. Our real parents lay there, and they would be together forever. Authorities, long ago, hadn't buried my father next to his wife, but Spy used her clairvoyance to find his body, and Myra and I moved him there. Myra had told me that he wanted it that way. Flowers were heaped on my sister's grave. I, however, wanted to give her something else.  
  
I cleared my throat. "For you, kitten," I whispered, tuned my guitar, then began to sing.  
  
"You tried so hard, my dear, to show me that I was your every dream  
  
"Yet I was afraid each thing you did was just an evil scheme  
  
"A memory from my lonesome past kept us so far apart  
  
"Thank you for freeing my doubtful mind and melting my cold, cold heart.  
  
"Another love before your time made my heart sad and blue  
  
"And so your heart was paying for things you didn't do  
  
"Yet with your love and sacrifice you brought us back to the start  
  
"Thank you for freeing my doubtful mind, and melting my cold, cold..."  
  
An elderly man and woman walking up to me interrupted my singing. I gasped. "Mom? Dad?" That was what I had called them, but it didn't feel right. "I mean, Mr. and Mrs. Stevens? That doesn't sound right either..." And it was this moment, the most absurd feeling I'd had all day, that I burst into tears.  
  
They were taken aback and couldn't think of what to say while I sobbed. My foster parents eventually sat down on the folding chairs, next to me.  
  
"Oh man," I whispered. "Today is just messed up...good and bad, finding and losing. I bet you two are really mad at me. I don't know you. You don't know me." It was too hard to look at them, so I buried my face in my hands. "I don't know anything any more."  
  
The man I had once called "Dad" spoke first, awkwardly. "Ryan, why did we never hear from you?"  
  
Wrong thing to say. I cried even harder. "I didn't know what to say if I did contact you. Everyone knows about that school now, but back then I couldn't tell you where it was. I had to stay with her! She was the only one I had left. And now she's gone."  
  
"What are you talking about?" asked Mrs. Stevens. I realized that they still didn't know that Myra had been my sister.  
  
The answer had to wait until I calmed down somewhat. "It says it on the tombstone. Read it. 'Myra Sing'. Look next to it. That's my family. She was my sister." Eventually I told them all that has been written in this story, but in broken pieces. I ended with, "How did you find me?"  
  
"We read the news about the death of this...woman..." explained Mrs. Stevens, with difficulty. "It mentioned your name. We came, but were late. We thought you were gone until your father saw you sitting here."  
  
"You're not my parents," I said quietly. "They are."  
  
Mr. Stevens sounded hurt. "But they can do nothing for you. They never did. We can help. It isn't too late. We'll take you back. We can start over. We'll even try to understand your activism."  
  
"I didn't know you cared that much," I murmured.  
  
Said Mrs. Stevens: "Absence does make the heart grow fonder."  
  
I shook my head. "No. Thank you for your kindness, but I can't go back. And you're wrong. That girl, lying there, did everything for me. I owe her...a lot. Seven years were right because of her."  
  
We sat in silence for a while. I had said all I needed to say to them, but they didn't know how to tell me what they needed. One of them – I don't remember which – finally asked something. "Who was this sister then, to make you so heartfelt, to change you so much?"  
  
They could try, but they would never understand. One more reminder of our separation, how we had always been separated. How does a person sum up another, someone fully dear to them, in ways that a near stranger can understand?  
  
Closing my eyes, I conjured up my memories, both the ones I retrieved for her sake and the ones she gave me. First came the long forgotten life, my memories from age three to seven. Anew I felt the joy, the love, and eventually, the heartbreak that came with it. I reflected on the life I had with the two people sitting next to me. They were ten years of a very different life, with prejudiced and clouded eyes looking out upon the world. There was a moment of my first love, the love that ended in tragedy, because of this blindness. Then I thought about my running away, the bus driver who had guided me and, finally, the car crash. I recalled the weeks of suspicion and unwillingness to remember the past, then the shock and fear that slapped me in the face. After that came the new life, the age of love and friendship and fulfillment. I had known where I belonged then, and had reveled in it. Finally came the struggle for rights, not for me, but for Myra and her kind.  
  
All of it had been entwined with this girl, this girl now before me, down below my reach. All the happy parts of my life had been with her, when I included her in my days. I was deeply thankful that her powers had proved to me that she was now with our mother and father, and that someday we would be together. The reason why I cried was that I would miss her in the meantime. I didn't know how to manage without my sister, my little sister, who knew so much more than I did.  
  
But how to tell them this? How could I possibly honor this relationship? How could I explain why she had affected me so, and why I had loved her enough to give up my ambitions and fight for her freedom?  
  
All I could say was: "She asked for nothing but that I let her love me. And she gave me truth in return." 


End file.
